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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.' 



THE 



Afternoon Landscape 



poems anli Cranslattons 



BY 



THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON 




Hefo gork atrti 3L0trtron 

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 



AC 



\ Copyright, 1889, 

By Thomas Wentworth Higginson. 



John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 



Kx 



TO 

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, 

Srfjoolmate anU Jtllofo^otonsmatt, 

THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED. 



' Alter ab undecimo turn me jam ceperat annus, 
Jam fragiles poteram a terra contingere ramos.' 



" Ver erat aeternum ; placidique tepentibus auris 
Mulcebant zephyri natos sine semine flores." 



Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 



CONTENTS. 

[A few of these poems are by other hands, and are designated 
by initials.] 

PAGE 

Prelude 9 

Sonnet to Duty 11 

A Jar op Eose-Leaves 12 

Sub Pondere Crescit 15 

The Playmate Hours 16 

The Baby Sorceress 17 

Heirs or Time 18 

Sixty and Six : or, A Fountain op Youth ... 20 

" Since Cleopatra Died " 22 

The Soul op a Butterfly 23 

Decoration 24 

" The Snowing of the Pines " 26 

The Lesson op the Leaves 27 

Vestis Angelica 28 

To My Shadow 30 

Two Yoyagers - . . 32 

Sea-gulls at Presh Pond 33 

The Dying House 34 

A Song of Days 37 



vi Contents. 

PAGE 

Treasure in Heaven 38 

Beneath the Violets 40 

" The Knock Alphabet " 41 

The Reed Immortal 42 

Dame Craigie 44 

Gifts 46 

Dwelling-places 48 

To the Memory of H. II 49 

Venus Multiformis 50 

To John Greenleaf Whittier 52 

Prologue 53 

Corporal Alston's Discourse 54 

Waiting for the Bugle 56 

Astra Castra 58 

The Last Palatine Light 59 

Memorial Ode 64 

Earlier Poems : 

The Madonna di San Sisto 71 

Hymns 73 

Poems from "Thalatta" 77 

The February Hush 80 

June 81 

December 82 

To a Young Convert 84 

Serenade by the Sea 86 

The Frozen Cascade 87 

The Things I Miss 88 



Contents. vii 

Translations : page 

Sappho's Ode to Aphrodite 93 

Sonnet prom Petrarch (123) 95 

Sonnet prom Petrarch (128) 96 

Sonnet prom Petrarch (134) 97 

Sonnet prom Petrarch (223) 98 

Sonnet prom Petrarch (251) 99 

Sonnet prom Petrarch (253) 100 

Sonnet prom Petrarch (261) 101 

Sonnet prom Petrarch (302) 102 

Sonnet prom Petrarch (309) 103 

Sonnet prom Petrarch (314) 104 

Sonnet prom Camoens (42) 105 

Sonnet prom Camoens (186) 106 



PRELUDE. 

T BREAMED one night that the calm hosts of 

heaven 
Had lost their changeless paths ; and as I stood 
Beside the latticed window, I could ivatch 
Those strange, fair pilgrims wandering from their 

shrines. 
Up to the zenith rose the moon, and paused ; 
Stars went and came, and waxed and waned again, 
Then vanished into nothing ; meteors pale 
Stole, soft as wind-blown blossoms, down the night ; 
Till I awoke to find the cold gray mom 
Hymning its lonely dirges through the pines. 

Were it not better that the planets fail, 

And every heavenly orbit wander wide, 

Than that this human life, its years like stars, 

Should miss the accustomed sequence of content ? 



io Prelude. 

All times are good; life's morning let us sing, 
Its sunny noon, high noon, the whole worloVs pause, 
Nor less that sweet decline which ends in eve. 
Life were monotonous with its morning hours, 
Came not the hurrying years to shift our mood, 
Unfold an altered heaven and spread its glow 
O'er the changed landscape of time's afternoon. 



SONNET TO DUTY. 

®e6s ris ecrr' kv rj/xiv. 

Euripides (Fragm.). 

T IGHT of dim mornings ; shield from heat and 
cold ; 

Balm for all ailments ; substitute for praise ; 

Comrade of those who plod in lonely ways 

(Ways that grow lonelier as the years wax old) ; 
Tonic for fears ; check to the over-bold ; 

Nurse, whose calm hand its strong restriction 
lays, 

Kind but resistless, on our wayward days ; 

Mart, where high wisdom at vast price is sold ; 
Gardener, whose touch bids the rose-petals fall, 

The thorns endure ; surgeon, who human hearts 

Searchest with probes, though the death-touch 
be given; 
Spell that knits friends, but yearning lovers parts ; 

Tyrant relentless o'er our blisses all ; — 

Oh, can it be, thine other name is Heaven? 



12 A Jar of Rose- Leaves. 



A JAR OF ROSE-LEAVES. 

IV TYRIAD roses fade unheeded, 

Yet no note of grief is needed ; 
When the ruder breezes tear them, 
Sung or songless, we can spare them. 
But the choicest petals are 
Shrined in some deep Orient jar, 
Rich without and sweet within, 
Where we cast the rose-leaves in. 

Life has jars of costlier price 
Framed to hold our memories. 
There we treasure baby smiles, 
Boyish exploits, girlish wiles, 
All that made our early days 
Sweeter than these trodden ways 
Where the Fates our fortunes spin : 
Memory, toss the rose-leaves in ! 



A Jar of Rose-Leaves. 13 

What the jar holds, that shall stay; 
Time steals all the rest away. 
Cast in love's first stolen word, 
Bliss when uttered, bliss when heard ; 
Maiden's looks of shy surprise; 
Glances from a hero's eyes ; 
Palms we risked our souls to win : 
Memory, fling the rose-leaves in ! 



Now more sombre and more slow 
Let the incantation grow! 
Cast in shreds of rapture brief, 
Subtle links 'twixt hope and grief; 
Vagrant fancy's dangerous toys ; 
Covert dreams, narcotic joys 
Flavored with the taste of sin : 
Memory, pour the rose-leaves in ! 



Quit that borderland of pain ! 
Cast in thoughts of nobler vein, 
Magic gifts of human breath, 
Mysteries of birth and death. 



14 A yar of Rose-Leaves. 

What if all this web of change 

But prepare for scenes more strange ; 

If to die be to begin ? 

Memory, heap the rose-leaves in ! 



Sub Ponder e Crescit. 15 



SUB PONDERE CRESCIT. 

/^AN" this be he, whose morning footstep trod 
O'er the green earth as in a regal home? 
Whose voice rang out beneath the skyey dome 
Like the high utterance of a youthful god ? 

Now with wan looks and eyes that seek the sod, 
Restless and purposeless as ocean foam, 
Across the twilight fields I see him roam 
With shoulders bowed, as shrinking from the rod. 

Oh lift the old-time light within thine eyes ! 
Set free the pristine passion from thy tongue ! 
Strength grows with burdens; make an end 
of sighs. 

Let thy thoughts soar again their mates among, 
And as yon oriole's eager matins rise, 
Abroad once more be thy strong anthem flung ! 



16 The Playmate Hours. 



THE PLAYMATE HOURS. 

"PvAWN lingers silent in the shade of night, 
Till on the gloaming Baby's laughter rings. 
Then smiling Day awakes, and open flings 
Her golden doors, to speed the shining flight 

Of restless hours, gay children of the light. 
Each eager playfellow to Baby brings 
Some separate gift, — a flitting bird that sings 
With her ; a waving branch of berries bright ; 

A heap of rustling leaves ; each trifle cheers 
This joyous little life but just begun. 
No weary hour to her brings sighs or tears; 

And when the shadows warn the loitering sun, 
With blossoms in her hands, untouched by 

fears, 
She softly falls asleep, and day is done. 

M. T. H. 



The Baby Sorceress. 17 



THE BABY SORCERESS. 

/^\UR baby sits beneath the tall elm-trees, 

A wreath of tangled ribbons in her hands ; 
She twines and twists the many-colored strands, 
A little sorceress, weaving destinies. 
Now the pure white she grasps ; now nought can 
please 
But strips of crimson, lurid as the brands 
From passion's fires, or yellow, like the sands 
That lend soft setting to the azure seas. 
And so with sweet incessant toil she fills 

A summer hour, still following fancies new, 
Till through my heart a sudden terror thrills 
Lest, as she weaves, her aimless choice prove true. 
Thank God, our fates proceed not from our 

wills ! 
The Power that spins the thread shall blend 
the hue. 

2 



18 Heirs of Time. 



HEIRS OF TIME. 

INSCRIBED TO EDWARD BELLAMY. 

Aucun homme ne peut aliener sa souverainete, parcequ'ilne 
pent abdiquer sa nature ou cesser d' etre homme ; et de la souve- 
rainete de chaque individu nait, dans la societe, la souverainete 
collective de tous ou la souverainete du peuple, egalement in- 
alienable. — Abbe de la Mennais, Le Livre du Peuple (1837). 

T^KOM street and square, from hill and glen 

Of this vast world beyond my door, 
I hear the tread of marching men, 
The patient armies of the poor. 

The halo of the city's lamps 
Hangs, a vast torchlight, in the air; 
I watch it through the evening damps : 
The masters of the world are there. 

Not ermine-clad or clothed in state, 
Their title-deeds not yet made plain ; 
But waking early, toiling late, 
The heirs of all the earth remain. 



Heirs of Time. 19 

Some day, by laws as fixed and fair 
As guide the planets in their sweep, 
The children of each outcast heir 
The harvest-fruits of time shall reap. 

The peasant brain shall yet be wise, 
The untamed pulse grow calm and still; 
The blind shall see, the lowly rise, 
And work in peace Time's wondrous will. 

Some day, without a trumpet's call, 
This news will o'er the world be blown: 
" The heritage comes back to all ! 
The myriad monarchs take their own ! " 



20 Sixty and Six, 



SIXTY AND SIX: 

OR, 

A FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 

Fons, delirium domus. 

Martial. 

TOY of the morning, 
Darling of dawning, 
Blithe little, lithe little daughter of mine ! 

While with thee ranging 

Sure I'm exchanging 
Sixty of my years for six years like thine. 

Wings cannot vie with thee, 

Lightly I fly with thee 
Gay as the thistle-down over the lea. 

Life is all magic, 

Comic or tragic, 
Played as thou playest it daily with me. 

Floating and ringing, 
Thy merry singing 



Sixty and Six. 21 

Comes when the light comes, like that of the birds. 

List to the play of it ! 

That is the way of it ; 
All's in the music and nought in the words. 

Glad or grief- laden, 

Schubert or Haydn, 
Ballad of Erin or merry Scotch lay ; 

Like an evangel, 

Some baby-angel 
Brought from sky-nursery stealing away. 

Surely I know it, 

Artist nor poet 
Guesses my treasure of jubilant hours. 

Sorrows, what are they? 

Nearer or far, they 
Vanish in sunshine, like dew from the flowers. 

Years, I am glad of them ; 

Would that I had of them 
More and yet more, while thus mingled with thine 

Age, I make light of it, 

Fear not the sight of it, 
Time 's but our playmate, whose toys are divine. 



22 Since Cleopatra Died. 



"SINCE CLEOPATRA DIED." 

" Since Cleopatra died, 
I have lived in such dishonor that the world 
Doth wonder at my baseness." 

" O INCE Cleopatra died ! " Long years are past, 
In Antony's fancy, since the deed was done. 

Love counts its epochs, not from sun to sun ? 

But by the heart-throb. Mercilessly fast 
Time has swept onward since she looked her last 

On life, a queen. For him the sands have run 

Whole ages through their glass, and kings 
have won 

And lost their empires o'er earth's surface vast 
Since Cleopatra died. Ah ! Love and Pain 

Make their own measure of all things that be. 

No clock's slow ticking marks their deathless 
strain ; 
The life they own is not the life we see ; 

Love's single moment is eternity: 

Eternity, a thought in Shakspeare's brain. 



The Soul of a Butterfly. 23 



THE SOUL OF A BUTTERFLY. 

/^\VER the field where the brown quails whistle, 

Over the ferns where the rabbits lie, 
Floats the tremulous down of a thistle. 
Is it the soul of a butterfly ? 

See ! how they scatter and then assemble ; 

Filling the air while the blossoms fade, — 
Delicate atoms, that whirl and tremble 

In the slanting sunlight that skirts the glade. 

There goes the summer's inconstant lover, 
Drifting and wandering, faint and far; 

Only bewailed by the upland plover, 
Watched by only the twilight star. 

Come next August, when thistles blossom, 
See how each is alive with wings ! 

Butterflies seek their souls in its bosom, 
Changed thenceforth to immortal things. 



24 Decoration. 



DECORATION. 

" Manibus date lilia plenis." 

TV/flD the flower- wreathed tombs I stand 

Bearing lilies in my hand. 
Comrades ! in what soldier-grave 
Sleeps the bravest of the brave ? 

Is it he who sank to rest 
With his colors round his breast ? 
Friendship makes his tomb a shrine ; 
Garlands veil it : ask not mine. 

One low grave, yon trees beneath, 
Bears no roses, wears no wreath; 
Yet no heart more high and warm 
Ever dared the battle-storm, 



Decoration. 25 

Never gleamed a prouder eye 
In the front of victory, 
Never foot had firmer tread 
On the field where hope lay dead, 

Than are hid within this tomb 
Where the untended grasses bloom, 
And no stone, with feigned distress, 
Mocks the sacred loneliness. 

Youth and beauty, dauntless will, 
Dreams that life could ne'er fulfil, 
Here lie buried ; here in peace 
Wrongs and woes have found release. 

Turning from my comrades' eyes, 
Kneeling where a woman lies, 
I strew lilies on the grave 
Of the bravest of the brave. 



26 " The Snowing of the Pines" 



"THE SNOWING OF THE PINES." 

COFTER than silence, stiller than still air, 

Float down from high pine-boughs the slender 
leaves. 
The forest floor its annual boon receives 
That comes like snowfall, tireless, tranquil, fair. 
Gently they glide, gently they clothe the bare 
Old rocks with grace. Their fall a mantle 

weaves 
Of paler yellow than autumnal sheaves 
Or those strange blossoms the witch-hazels wear. 
Athwart long aisles the sunbeams pierce their way ; 
High up, the crows are gathering for the night ; 
The delicate needles fill the air ; the jay 
Takes through their golden mist his radiant flight ; 
They fall and fall, till at November's close 
The snow-flakes drop as lightly — snows on 
snows. 



The Lesson of the Leaves. 27 



THE LESSON OF THE LEAVES. 

C\ THOU who bearest on thy thoughtful face 
The wearied calm that follows after grief, 
See how the autumn guides each loosened leaf 
To sure repose in its own sheltered place. 

Ah, not forever whirl they in the race 

Of wild forlornness round the gathered sheaf, 
Or hurrying onward in a rapture brief 
Spin o'er the moorlands into trackless space. 

Some hollow captures each ; some sheltering wall 
Arrests the wanderer on its aimless way ; 
The autumn's pensive beauty needs them all, 

And winter finds them warm, though sere and gray. 
They nurse young blossoms for the spring's sweet 

call, 
And shield new leaflets for the burst of May. 



28 Vestis Angelica. 



VESTIS ANGELICA. 

[It was a custom of the early English church for pious laymen 
to be carried in the hour of death to some monastery, that they 
might be clothed in the habit of the religious order, and might 
die amid the prayers of the brotherhood. The garment thus 
assumed was known as the Vestis Angelica. See Moroni : 
Dizionario di Erudizione Storico-Ecclesiastica, ii. 78; xcvi. 212.] 

r\ GATHER, gather! Stand 
Round her on either hand! 

shining angel-band 

More pure than priest! 

A garment white and whole 

Weave for this passing soul, 

Whose earthly joy and dole 
Have almost ceased. 

Weave it of mothers' prayers, 
Of sacred thoughts and cares, 
Of peace beneath gray hairs, 
Of hallowed pain ; 



Vestis Angelica. 29 

Weave it of vanished tears, 
Of childlike hopes and fears, 
Of joys, by saintly years 

Washed free from stain. 

Weave it of happy hours, 

Of smiles and summer flowers, 

Of passing sunlit showers, 

Of acts of love ; 
Of footsteps that did go 
Amid life's work and woe, — 
Her eyes still fixed below, 

Her thoughts above. 

Then as those eyes grow dim 
Chant we her best-loved hymn, 
While from yon church-tower's brim 

A soft chime swells. 
Her freed soul floats in bliss 
To unseen worlds from this, 
Nor knows in which it is 

She hears the bells. 



30 To my Shadow. 



TO MY SHADOW. 

A MUTE companion at my side 

Paces and plods, the whole day long, 
Accepts the measure of my stride, 
Yet gives no cheer by word or song. 



More close than any doggish friend, 
Not ranging far and wide, like him, 
He goes where'er my footsteps tend, 
Nor shrinks for fear of life or limb. 



I do not know when first we met, 
But till each day's bright hours are done 
This grave and speechless silhouette 
Keeps me betwixt him and the sun. 



To my Shadow. 31 

They say he knew me when a child; 
Born with my birth, he dies with me ; 
Not once from his long task beguiled, 
Though sin or shame bid others flee. 

What if, when all this world of men 
Shall melt and fade and pass away, 
This deathless sprite should rise again 
And be himself my Judgment Day ? 



32 Two Voyagers. 



TWO VOYAGERS. 

\ 7^7 HEN first I mark upon my child's clear brow 
Thought's wrestling shadows their new strug- 
gle keep, 
Read my own conflicts in her questions deep, 
My own remorse in her repentant vow, 
My own vast ignorance in her "Why?" and 
"How?" 
When my precautions only serve to heap 
New burdens, and my cares her needs o'erleap, 
Then to her separate destiny I bow. 
So seem we like two ships, that side by side, 
Older and younger, breast the same rough main 
Bound for one port, whatever winds betide, 
In solemn interchange of joy or pain. 

I may not hold thee back. Though skies be 

dark, 
Put forth upon the seas, priceless bark ! 



Sea- Gulls at Fresh Pond. 33 



SEA-GULLS AT FRESH POND. 

C\ LAKE of boyish dreams ! I linger round 
Thy calm, clear waters and thine altered 
shores 
Till thought brings back the plash of child- 
hood's oars, — 
Long hid in memory's depths, a vanished sound. 
Alone unchanged, the sea-birds yet are found 
Far floating on thy wave by threes and fours, 
Or grouped in hundreds, while a white gull 

soars, 
Safe, beyond gunshot of the hostile ground. 
I am no nearer to those joyous birds 

Than when, long since, I watched them as a 

child ; 
Nor am I nearer to that flock more wild, 
Most shy and vague of all elusive things, 

My unattainable thoughts, unreached by words. 
I see the flight, but never touch the wings, 

3 



34 The Dying House. 



THE DYING HOUSE. 

CHE is dead ; her house is dying ; 
Round its long-deserted door, 
From the hillside and the moor, 
Swell the autumn breezes sighing. 
Closer to its windows press 
Pine-tree boughs in mute caress ; 
Wind-sown seeds in silence come, 
Root, and grow, and bud, and bloom ; 
Year by year, kind Nature's grace 
Wraps and shields her dwelling-place. 
She who loved all things that grew, 
Talked with every bird that flew, 
Brought each creature to her feet 
With persuasive accents sweet, — 
Now her voice is hushed and gone, 
Yet the birds and bees keep on. 



The Dying House. 35 

Oh the joy, the love, the glee, 
Sheltered once by that roof-tree ! 
Song and dance and serenade, 
Joyous jest by maskers played ; 
Passionate whispers on the stairs, 
Hopes unspoken, voiceless prayers ; 
Greetings that repressed love's theme, 
Partings that renewed its dream; 
All the blisses, all the woes, 
Youth's brief hour of spring-time knows, — 
All have died into the past. 
Perish too the house at last ! 

Vagrant children come and go 
'Neath the windows, murmuring low ; 
Peering with impatient eye 
For a ghostly mystery. 
Some a fabled secret tell, 
Others touch the soundless bell, 
Then with hurrying step retreat 
From the echo of their feet. 
Or perchance there wander near 
Guests who once held revel here : 
Some live o'er again the days 



36 The Dying House. 

Of their love's first stolen gaze ; 

Or some sad soul, looking in, 

Calls back hours of blight or sin, 

Glad if her mute life may share 

In the sheltering silence there. 

Oh, what cheeks might blanch with fears, 

Had walls tongues, as they have ears ! 

Silent house with close-locked doors, 
Ghosts and memories haunt thy floors! 
Not a web of circumstance 
Woven here into romance 
E'er can perish ; many a thread 
Must survive when thou art dead. 
Children's children shall not know 
How their doom of joy or woe 
Was determined ere their birth, 
'Neath this roof that droops to earth, 
By some love-tie here create, 
Or hereditary hate, 
Or some glance whose bliss or strife 
Was the climax of a life, 
Though its last dumb witness falls 
With the crumbling of these walls. 



A Song of Days, 37 



A SONG OF DAYS. 

C\ RADIANT summer day, 

Whose air, sweet air, steals on from flower 
to flower ! 
Couldst thou not yield one hour 
When the glad heart says, "This alone is May"? 

passionate earthly love, 

Whose tremulous pulse beats on to life's best boon ! 

Couldst thou not give one noon, 

One noon of noons, all other bliss above ? 

solemn human life, 

Whose nobler longings bid all conflict cease ! 

Grant us one day's deep peace 

Beyond the utmost rumor of all strife. 

For if no joy can stay, 

Let it at least yield one consummate bloom, 

Or else there is no room 

To find delight in love, or life, or May. 



38 Treasure in Heaven. 



TREASURE IN HEAVEN. 

TF messengers we fear 

Should hither come to-day, 
And beckon me away 

From all that earth holds dear; 

And I should trembling turn 
And cling to glowing life, 
Yet in the fiercest strife 

Feel heart and reason burn ; 

Then look into love's face, 
And see with anguish wild 
Our rosy little child 

With all her baby grace, 

And stretch my feeble hand 
To keep the darling near, — 
My fainting soul would hear 

A voice from spirit-land. 



Treasure in Heaven. 39 

That voice would set me free, 
With joy my pulses thrill, 
" Mamma, I need you still ! 

Have you forgotten me?" 

M. T. H. 



1883. 



40 Beneath the Violets. 



BENEATH THE VIOLETS. 

CAFE 'neath the violets 
Rests the baby form ; 
Every leaf that springtime sets 

Shields it from the storm. 
Peace to all vain regrets 

Mid this sunshine warm ! 

Shadows come and shadows go 
O'er the meadows wide ; 

Twice each day, to and fro, 
Steals the river-tide ; 

Each morn with sunrise-glow 
Gilds the green hillside. 

Peace that no sorrow frets 

In our souls arise ! 
Over all our wild regrets 

Arching, like the skies; 
While safe 'neath the violets 

Sleep the violet eyes. 



1880. 



" The Knock Alphabet!' 41 



"THE KNOCK ALPHABET." 

[Mr. Kennan tells us that Eussian prisoners converse with 
each other in a complex alphabet, indicated by knocking on the 
walls of their cells. ] 

IKE prisoners, each within his own deep cell, 

We mortals talk together through a wall. 
" Was that low note indeed my brother's call ? 
Or but a distant water-drop which fell?" 

Yet to the straining ear each sound can tell 
Some woe that might the bravest heart appal, 
Or some high hope that triumphs over all : 
" Brother, I die to-morrow." " Peace ! " " All 's 
well!" 

Oh, could we once see fully, face to face, 

But one of these our mates, — once speak aloud, 
Once meet him, heart to heart, in strong em- 
brace, — 

How would our days be glad, our hopes be proud ! 
Perchance that wall is Life ; and life being done, 
Death may unite these sundered cells in one. 



42 The Reed Immortal. 



THE REED IMMORTAL. 

INSCRIBED TO THE BOSTON PAPYRUS CLUB. 

[Pliny tells us that the Egyptians regarded the papyrus as an 
emblem of immortality.] 

"DEED of the stagnant waters, 

Far in the Eastern lands, , 
Rearing thy peaceful daughters 

In sight of the storied sands ! 
Armies and fleets defying 

Have swept by that quiet spot, 
But thine is the life undying, 

Theirs is the tale forgot. 

The legions of Alexander 

Are scattered and gone and fled, 

And the queen who ruled commander 
Over Antony, is dead; 



The Reed Immortal. 43 

The marching armies of Cyrus 
Have vanished in earth again, 

And only the frail papyrus 

Still reigns o'er the sons of men. 

Papyrus ! reed immortal, 

Survivor of all renown ! 
Thou heed'st not the solemn portal 

Where heroes and kings go down. 
The monarchs of generations 

Have died into dust away; 
reed that outlivest nations, 

Be our symbol of strength to-day ! 



44 Dame Crai 



DAME CRAIGIE. 

[Lines read at the Longfellow Memorial Reading, Cambridge, 
Feb. 27, 1888.] 

TN childish Cambridge days, now long ago, 

When pacing schoolward in the morning hours, 

I passed the stately homes of Tory Row 
And paused to see Dame Craigie tend her 
flowers. 

Framed in the elm-tree boughs before her door 
The old escutcheon of our town was seen, — 

Canker-worms pendent, yellowing leaves in or, 
School-boys regardant, on a field grass-green. 

Dame Craigie, with Spinoza in her hand, 

Was once heard murmuring to the insect crew, 

" I will not harm you, little restless band ! 
For what are mortal men but worms, like you ? " 



Dame Craigie. 45 

The trees are gone; Dame Craigie too is gone, 
Her tongue long silent, and her turban furled ; 

Yet 'neath her roof thought's silk-worms still 
spun on, 
Whose sumptuous fabric clothed a barren world. 



46 Gifts. 



GIFTS. 

A FLAWLESS pearl, snatched from an ocean 
cave, 
Remote from light or air, 
And by the mad caress of stormy wave 
Made but more pure and fair; 

A diamond, wrested from earth's hidden zone, 

To whose recesses deep 
It clung, and bravely flashed a light that shone 

Where dusky shadows creep ; 

A sapphire, in whose heart the tender rays 

Of summer skies had met ; 
A ruby, glowing with the ardent blaze 

Of suns that never set, — 



Gifts. 47 

These priceless jewels shone, one happy day, 

On my bewildered sight : 
" We bring from earth, sea, sky," they seemed to 
say, 

" Love's richness and delight." 

" For me ? " I trembling cried. " Thou need'st not 
dread," 

Sang heavenly voices sweet ; 
And unseen hands placed on my lowly head 

This crown, for angels meet. 

M. T. H. 



48 Dwelling- Places. 



DWELLING-PLACES. 



T^yHERE is thy home, little fair head, 

With thy sunny hair, on earth's clouded 
way? 
" On my lover's breast ; and I take my rest, 
And I know no terror by night or day." 



Where is thy home, little fair heart, 
With thy joyous hopes in life's shadows dim? 
"In my lover's heart ; and we never part, 
For he carries me round the world with him." 

Where is thy home, little fair soul, 
So brave 'mid the old world's sorrow and care ? 
" My home is in heaven. To me 't is given 
To win my lover to meet me there." 



To the Memory of H. H. 49 



TO THE MEMORY OF H. H. 

r\ SOUL of fire within a woman's clay ! 

Lifting with slender hands a race's wrong, 
Whose mute appeal hushed all thine early song, 
And taught thy passionate heart the loftier way, — 
What shall thy place be in the realm of day ? 
What disembodied world can hold thee long, 
Binding thy turbulent pulse with spell more 

strong ? 
Dwell'st thou, with wit and jest, where poets may, 
Or with ethereal women (born of air 
And poet's dreams) dost live in ecstasy, 
Teach new love-thoughts to Shakespeare's Juliet 
fair, 
New moods to Cleopatra? Then, set free, 
The woes of Shelley's Helen thou dost share, 
Or weep with poor Rossetti's Rose Mary. 



50 Venus Multiformis. 



VENUS MULTIFORMIS. 

n^HREE men on a broken deck-plank, 
With the reef and its roar ahead, 
Floated on, through a fair June morning, 
To a doom that was sure and dread. 

Said one, " My years have been wasted 

On a woman's terrible charms; 
But oh ! to see death draw near me, 

And to die outside of her arms ! " 

Said another, " Through surge and through tempest 

My eyes are fixed on her face; 
I forget the tumult of ocean 

In the joy of her last embrace." 

Said the third, " I can die unflinching 

Wherever my fortune lies ; 
But oh! her endless bereavement, 

And the rivers of tears from her eyes ! " 



Venus Multiformis. 51 

While the woman they all had worshipped 
Walked out from the gray church-door 

Amid smiles and greetings and music, 
And followed by prayers of the poor. 



52 To John Greenleaf Whi titer. 



TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 

A T dawn of manhood came a voice to me 

That said to startled conscience, "Sleep no 
more ! " 
Like some loud cry that peals from door to door 
It roused a generation ; and I see, 
Now looking back through years of memory, 
That all of school or college, all the lore 
Of worldly maxims, all the statesman's store, 
Were nought beside that voice's mastery. 
If any good to me or from me came 

Through life, and if no influence less divine 
Has quite usurped the place of duty's flame ; 
If aught rose worthy in this heart of mine, 
Aught that, viewed backward, wears no shade 

of shame, — 
Bless thee, old friend ! for that high call was 
thine. 

Cambridge, Dec. 17, 1887. 



Prologue. 53 



PROLOGUE. 

[Eecited by a young lady at the first performance of the Yas- 
sall House Dramatic Club, Cambridge, Mass., Dec. 8, 1882.] 

J3EKEATH this roof the stately Vassall race 
Once swept these halls in velvet and point- 
lace, 
Sedately welcomed many an English lord, 
And met him with the snuff-box, not the sword. 
A hundred years are passed. We fill the scene 
With humbler graces, less chivalric mien. 
Yet you may see upon our mimic stage 
The show and semblance of that earlier age ; 
The old brocades may veil some modern form 
Of living beauty and of heart still warm ; 
And we, the youths and maidens of to-day, 
Will be your vassals if you'll like our play. 



54 Corporal Alston's Discourse. 



CORPORAL ALSTON'S DISCOURSE. 

OWIFT shooting down that Southern river's 

bends, 
Like logs in freshet, swept our steamers on ; 
Their midships lumbered up with useless bales, 
Old household stuffs and huddled clothes in rags, 
And sombre groups of sleeping negroes, — waifs 
Just taken on board from dug-outs, timbers, rafts, 
Or off the rice-fields that spread either side, 
One vast green chequer-work of dyke and pool. 
Here the swart mothers and their babies dozed 
'Mid all their earthly goods; and here and there 
A silent sentinel watched a silent form 
Wrapped in a blanket, nerveless, pulseless, cold, 
Nigh to a dull red smear upon the plank, 
Or splintered shot-hole in our ship's stout side. 

But I, going past them to the forward deck, 
Saw only squads of dusky soldiers, couched 



Corporal Alston's Discourse, 55 

Like some vast caravan, beneath the moon, 
A breathing mass of black and ivory ; 
And o'er them all a high, shrill voice pealed forth 
The burden of exhortation. I knew it well, 
Old Adam Alston's voice ; and thus it spoke : 

" When I heard de bombshell screamin' troo de 

woods 
Like de Judgment Day, I said widin myself, 
1 Suppose my head been took clean off dis night, 
Dey couldn't put my soul in de torments. No, 
No ! not perceps I hab for an enemy 
De Mos' High God ! ' And when de bullets come, 
Ho ! dem dar bullets a-swishin' across de deck, 
I cried aloud, ' Lord, help my congregation ! 
Boys, load and fire ! ' " 

Then rang the strong Aniens 
And bursts of laughter from glad African lungs ; 
Then all was still but one blithe mocking-bird 
High on the bank, and that strange ominous fowl 
The chuck-will's-widow, and our engine's throb ; 
While Southern fire-flies, twice as large as ours, 
Swarmed from the meadows to the tree-tops high 
And hung there, clustering Pleiads, earthly stars. 



56 Waiting for the Bugle. 



WAITING FOR THE BUGLE. 

[Read before the Grand Army Post (56) of veteran soldiers, at 
Cambridge, Mass., May 25, 1888.] 

\\ 7"E wait for the bugle ; the night-dews are 

cold, 
The limbs of the soldiers feel jaded and old, 
The field of our bivouac is windy and bare, 
There is lead in our joints, there is frost in our 

hair, 
The future is veiled and its fortunes unknown, 
As we lie with hushed breath till the bugle is 

blown. 

At the sound of that bugle each comrade shall 

spring 
Like an arrow released from the strain of the 

string ; 
The courage, the impulse of youth shall come back 
To banish the chill of the drear bivouac, 



Waiting for the Bugle. 57 

And sorrows and losses and cares fade away 
When that life-giving signal proclaims the new day. 

Though the bivouac of age may put ice in our 

veins, 
And no fibre of steel in our sinew remains ; 
Though the comrades of yesterday's march are not 

here, 
And the sunlight seems pale and the branches are 

sere, — 
Though the sound of our cheering dies down to 

a moan, 
We shall find our lost youth when the bugle is 

blown. 



58 Astra Castra. 



ASTRA CASTRA. 

COMEWHERE betwixt me and the farthest 
star, 
Or else beyond all worlds, all space, all thought, 
Dwells that freed spirit, now transformed and 
taught 
To move in orbits where the immortals are. 
Does she rejoice or mourn ? Perchance from far 
Some earthly errand she but now has sought, 
By instantaneous ways among us brought, 
Ways to which night and distance yield no bar. 
Could we but reach and touch that wayward will 
On earth so hard to touch, would she be found 
Controlled or yet impetuous, free or bound, 
Tameless as ocean, or serene and still? 
If in her heart one eager impulse stirs, 
Could heaven itself calm that wild mood of 
hers? 



The Last Palatine Light, 59 



THE LAST PALATINE LIGHT. 

[One of the best-known traditions of our Atlantic coast is that 
of the " Palatine Light," popularly associated with the wreck, off 
Block Island in 1720, of a ship bearing emigrants from the 
German Palatinates. The light is reported as appearing at ir- 
regular intervals for more than a century, and was last seen in 
1832. Its appearance is minutely described by an eye-witness, 
a resident physician, who saw it Dec. 20, 1810. See Sheffield : 
"Block Island," p. 42.] 

"DOGER HARLAKENDEN climbed the hill 

Where no other fisherman dared to go ; 
The east-wind was blowing bitter and chill, 
Sheer was the cliff and the footing slow ; 
Handgrip on rock and knee on the sod, — 
At last on the headland's height he trod. 

In , the days of the pirates three footpaths led 
To that dizzy cliff; but now there was none 
Save for the fox, the goat, and the bird : 
One path o'er the seaweeds green and red; 
From high-water mark to the cave-mouth, one ; 
And thence o'er the Pirates' HilJ, the third. 



60 The Last Palatine Light. 

Roger Harlakenden threw him down, 

Breathless at last, on the thin dry grass ; 

He could see his dory that glistened brown, 
He could see the men and the women pass, 

Tending the fish-flakes, from door to door ; 

And then he looked off to the ocean-floor. 

Like a land-locked haven in sight of the sea 

The life of the twelvemonth past was spread ; 

Peaceful contentment of heart and head 
Since the Lord had found him, from sin set free. 
Yet sometimes the thought of his wilder years 

Rushed back upon him, teeming with ill, — 
Wicked joys and delicious fears ; 

And then he climbed to the Pirates' Hill. 

Was it worth the strength of a man like him 

To dwell by the bay, with a calm sweet wife ; 
No stir in the blood, no peril of limb, 

No wild, fierce joy of the coming strife ? 
Just to clean his boat and to haul the seines, 

To cook the fish by the drift-wood fire, 
To play with his boy through the autumn rains, 

And on Sunday sing with his wife in the choir ? 



The Last Palatine Light. 61 

Straight from the far horizon's line 

The east-wind blew; the smell of the brine 
Banished the months of weary peace, 
And bade this desolate torpor cease. 

It was almost sunset ; there was the sea. 

Only a night's hard pull, and he 

With his dory made fast to a whale-ship's side 
Could rock once more on the ocean wide. 

What to him the fare or the men? 
The ruder the better. He held his own 

Still with the roughest. God ! how he longed 
To be once more where the sailors thronged, 
Or the old-time wreckers might shout again 
On some cruel isle of the middle zone ! 

See ! with the sunset came once more 
The Palatine Light, the ship on fire ! 
Each generation, son and sire, 

Had watched it gleam, since the current bore 
The fated ship to a merciless wreck, 
With the crew in sight on the blazing deck. 

There was the phantom now! the flame 
Climbed stay and halyard to pennon-staff! 



62 The Last Palatine Light. 

There was neither pity nor joy nor shame 

In Roger Harlakenden's bitter laugh. 
" Let it burn ! " he said ; " let the ocean roar ! 
I have looked on burning ships before. 

" I will watch that light with a steadfast eye 
From this moment out, till the sun goes down 

If it lasts till the last red sunbeam, I 

Will be quit this night of the cursed town ! " 

Then he tried to think of his wife and child; 

But his lips grew stern, and the wind was wild. 

Suddenly met him the startled face 

Of a boy who had climbed to that dizzy place, — 
Half-triumphant and yet half-scared, 
But daring whatever his father dared. 

The fisherman trembled, 'twixt wrath and fright. 
Terror next in that young voice rang : 
" Father ! " it cried. Harlakenden sprang — 

Out went the gleam of the Palatine Light ! 

He clasped the child in his strong embrace, 
He thrust back the curls from the rosy face ; 
Then faded the last bright flush of day, 



The Last Palatine Light. 63 

A shadow fell on the ocean-swells, 

And soft from the mainland dim and gray 

Came the sweet, far sound of the Christinas bells. 
Never since then has a sailor seen 
The lurid wraith of the Palatine. 



64 Memorial Ode. 



MEMORIAL ODE. 



[Read before the Grand Army Posts of Boston, Mass., on 
Memorial Day, May 30, 1881, by Mr. George Riddle.] 



JOY to the three-hilled city ! — for each year 
Heals something of the grief this day records ; 

Each year the plaintive lay 

Sounds yet more far away, 
And strains of triumph suit memorial words. 
The old-time pang becomes a thrill of joy ; 

Again we turn the page 

Of our heroic age, 
And read anew the tale of every patriot boy. 
A modest courage was their simple wont, 
The dauntless youths who grew to manhood here 
Putnam and Savage, Perkins and Revere. 

It needs no helmet's gleam, 

No armor's glittering beam, 



Memorial Ode. 65 

No feudal imagery of shield or spear 
To gild the gallant deeds that roused us then, — 
When Cass fell dying in the battle's front, 
And Shaw's fair head lay 'mid his dusky men. 



II. 

All o'er the tranquil land 

On this Memorial Day, 

Coming from near and far, 
Men gather in the mimic guise of war. 

They bear no polished steel, 
Yet by the elbow's touch they march, they wheel, 

Or side by side they stand. 
They now are peaceful men, fair Order's sons ; 
But as they halt in motionless array, 

Or bow their heads to pray, 

Into their dream intrudes 
The swift sharp crack of rifle-shots in woods ; 

Into their memory swells 
The trumpet's call, the screaming of the shells ; 
And ever and anon they seem to hear 
The far-off thunder of besieging guns, — 
All sounds of bygone war, all memories of the ear. 



66 Memorial Ode. 

III. 

A little while it seems 
Since those were daily thoughts which now are 
dreams. 

A little while is gone 
Since, the last battle fought, the victory won, 
We saw sweet Peace come back with all her 

charms, 
And watched a million men lay down their arms. 

But at this morning's call 

We bridge the interval; 
And yet once more, with no regretful tears, 
Live back again, though now men's blood be 

cooled, 
Through the long vista of the fading years 
To days when Sumner spoke, and Andrew ruled. 

IV. 

Courage is first and last of what we need 
To mould a nation for triumphal sway : 

All else is empty air, 

A promise vainly fair, 
Like the bright beauty of the ocean spray 



Memorial Ode. 67 

Tossed up toward heaven, but never reaching there. 
Not in the past, but in the future, we 

Must seek the mastery 
Of fate and fortune, thought and word and deed. 
Gone, gone for aye, the little Puritan homes ; 
Gone the beleaguered town, from out whose spires 

Flashed forth the warning fires 
Telling the Cambridge rustics, " Percy comes ! " 
And gone those later days of grief and shame 
When slavery changed our court-house to a jail, 
And blood-drops stained its threshold. Now we 
hail, 

After the long affray, 
A time of calmer order, wider aim, 
More mingled races, manhood's larger frame, 
A city's broader sweep, the Boston of to-day. 

V. 

They say our city's star begins to wane, 
Our heroes pass away, our poets die, 
Our passionate ardors mount no more so high. 
'T is but an old alarm, the affright of wealth, 
The cowardice of culture, wasted pain ! 
Freedom is hope and health ! 



68 Memorial Ode. 

The sea on which yon ocean steamers ride 
Is the same sea that rocked the shallops frail 
Of the bold Pilgrims ; yonder is its tide, 
And here are we, their sons ; it grows not pale, 
Nor we who walk its borders. Never fear ! 

Courage and truth are all ! 
Trust in the great hereafter, and whene'er 

In some high hour of need, 

That tests the heroic breed, 
The Boston of the future sounds its call, 
Bartletts and Lowells yet shall answer, " Here ! " 



EARLIER POEMS. 



THE MADONNA DI SAN SISTO. 

[These verses, written and published at the age of nineteen, are 
here preserved, partly from their association with my dear old 
friend and college teacher, Professor Longfellow, who liked them 
well enough to include them in his "Estray," in 1847.] 

OOK down into my heart, 

Thou holy Mother, with thy holy Son ! 
Read all my thoughts, and bid the doubts depart, 
And all the fears be done. 

I lay my spirit bare, 
blessed ones ! beneath your wondrous eyes, 
And not in vain ; ye hear my heartfelt prayer, 

And your twin-gaze replies. 

What says it? All that life 
Demands of those who live, to be and do, — 
Calmness, in all its bitterest, deepest strife ; 

Courage, till all is through. 



72 The Madonna di San Sis to. 

Thou Mother ! in thy sight 
Can aught of passion or despair remain? 
Beneath those eyes' serene and holy light 

The soul is bright again. 

Thou Son ! whose earnest gaze 
Looks ever forward, fearless, steady, strong; 
Beneath those eyes no doubt or weakness stays, 

Nor fear can linger long. 

Thanks, that to my weak heart 
Your mingled powers, fair forms, such counsel give. 
Till I have learned the lesson ye impart, 

I have not learned to live. 

And oh, till life is done 
Of your deep gaze may ne'er the impression cease ! 
Still may the dark eyes whisper, " Courage ! On ! " 

The mild eyes murmur, " Peace ! " 



Hymns. 73 



HYMNS. 

[These three hymns were written at the age of twenty-two, and 
were published anonymously in a collection edited by my friends 
Samuel Longfellow and Samuel Johnson. They are here inserted 
mainly because they have secured for themselves a semblance of 
permanent vitality in hymn-books, and are not always correctly 
printed.] 

I. 
I WILL ARISE AND GO UNTO MY FATHER. 

n^O Thine eternal arms, God, 

Take us, Thine erring children, in ; 
From dangerous paths too boldly trod, 
From wandering thoughts and dreams of sin. 

Those arms were round our childish ways, 
A guard through helpless years to be ; 
Oh leave not our maturer days, 
We still are helpless without Thee ! 

We trusted hope and pride and strength : 
Our strength proved false, our pride was vain, 



74 Hymns. 

Our dreams have faded all at length, — 
We come to Thee, Lord, again ! 

A guide to trembling steps yet be ! 
Give us of Thine eternal powers ! 
So shall our paths all lead to Thee, 
And life smile on like childhood's hours. 



II. 

THE HOPE OF MAN. 

The Past is dark with sin and shame, 
The Future dim with doubt and fear ; 
But, Father, yet we praise Thy name, 
Whose guardian love is always near. 

For man has striven, ages long, 
With faltering steps to come to Thee, 
And in each purpose high and strong 
The influence of Thy grace could see. 

He could not breathe an earnest prayer, 
But Thou wast kinder than he dreamed, 
As age by age brought hopes more fair, 
And nearer still Thy kingdom seemed. 



Hymns. 75 

But never rose within his breast 
A trust so calm and deep as now ; 
Shall not the weary find a rest? 
Father, Preserver, answer Thou ! 

'T is dark around, 't is dark above, 
But through the shadow streams the sun ; 
We cannot doubt Thy certain love ; 
And Man's true aim shall yet be won ! 



III. 

PANTHEISM AND THEISM. 

ISTo human eyes Thy face may see, 

No human thought Thy form may know ; 

But all creation dwells in Thee, 

And Thy great life through all doth flow! 

And yet, O strange and wondrous thought ! 
Thou art a God who hearest prayer, 
And every heart with sorrow fraught 
To seek Thy present aid may dare. 



76 Hymns. 

And though most weak our efforts seem 
Into one creed these thoughts to bind, 
And vain the intellectual dream 
To see and know the Eternal Mind, — 

Yet Thou wilt turn them not aside 
Who cannot solve Thy life divine, 
But would give up all reason's pride 
To know their hearts approved by Thine. 

So, though we faint on life's dark hill, 
And thought grow weak, and knowledge flee, 
Yet faith shall teach us courage still, 
And love shall guide us on to Thee! 



Poems from " Tkalatta" 77 



POEMS FROM "THALATTA." 

[The two poems which follow are from a volume called 
"Thalatta ; a book for the Sea-side," edited by my friend Samuel 
Longfellow and myself in 1853.] 

I. 

CALM. 

""P IS a dull, sullen day, — the dull beach o'er 
In rippling curves the ebbing ocean flows ; 
Along each tiny crest that nears the shore 

A line of soft green shadow rises, glides, and 
goes. 

The tide recedes, — the flat smooth beach grows 
bare, 

More faint the low sweet plashing on my ears, 
Yet still I watch the dimpling shadows fair, 

As each is born, glides, pauses, disappears. 



78 Poems from " Thalatta" 

What channel needs our faith except the eyes? 

God leaves no spot of earth unglorified; 
Profuse and wasteful, lovelinesses rise; 

New beauties dawn before the old have died. 

Trust thou thy joys in keeping of the Power 
Who holds these faint soft shadows in His hand ; 

Believe and live, and know that hour by hour 
Will ripple newer beauty to thy strand. 



Poems from " Thalatta!' 79 



II. 

THE MORNING MIST. 

^PHE mist that like a dim soft pall was lying, 
Mingling the gray sea with the low gray sky, 
Floats upward now ; the sunny breeze is sighing, 
And Youth stands pale before his destiny : 
O passionate heart of Youth ! 
Each rolling wave with herald voice is crying ; 
Thou canst delay, but never shun replying, 
It calls thee living or it calls thee dying, 
Though beauty fade before the glare of truth. 

Thou wanderest onward 'neath the solemn morning, 

It seems like mid-day ere the sun rides high, 
The soft mist fades, whose shadowy adorning 
Wrapt in a dreamy haze the earth and sky; 
The Ocean lies before ! 
thou art lost if thou discard the warning 
To make hot Day more fair than fairest dawning, 
Till eve look back serenely on the morning 
When Youth stood trembling on the ocean-shore. 



80 The February Hush. 



THE FEBRUARY HUSH. 

CNOW o'er the darkening moorlands, — 

Flakes fill the quiet air; 
Drifts in the forest hollows, 
And a soft mask everywhere. 

The nearest twig on the pine-tree 

Looks blue through the whitening sky, 

And the clinging beech-leaves rustle 
Though never a wind goes by. 

But there 's red on the wildrose berries, 

And red in the lovely glow 
On the cheeks of the child beside me, 

That once were pale, like snow. 



June. 81 



JUNE. 

CHE needs no teaching, — no defect is hers ; 
She stands in all her beauty 'mid the trees. 
'Neath the tall pines her golden sunshine stirs 
And shifts and trembles with each passing breeze. 

All the long day upon the broad green boughs 
Lieth the lustre of her lovely life, 
While too much drugged with rapture to carouse 
Broods her soft world of insect-being rife. 

So without effort or perplexing thought 

She comes to claim all homage as her own, 
Clad in the richest garments Nature wrought, 

Melting the strongest with her magic zone. 
O wondrous June ! our lives should be like thee, 
With such calm grace fulfilling destiny. 

s. L. H. 



82 December. 



DECEMBER. 

^PHE evening sky unseals its quiet fountain, 
Hushing the silence to a drowsy rain ; 

It spreads a web of dimness o'er the plain 
And round each meadow tree ; 

Makes this steep river-bank a dizzy mountain, 
And this wide stream a sea. 

Stealing from upper headlands of deep mist, 
The dark tide bears its icebergs ocean bound, 
White shapeless voyagers, by each other kissed, 

With rustling, ghostly sound; 
The lingering oak-leaves sigh, the birches shiver, 
Watching the wrecks of summer far and near, 
Where many a dew-drop, frozen on its bier, 

Drifts down the dusky river. 

I know thee not, thou giant elm, who towerest 
With shadowy branches in the murky air ; 
And this familiar grove, once light and fair, 
Frowns, an Enchanted Forest. 



December, 83 

Couldst thou not choose some other night to moan, 

hollow-hooting owl? 

There needs no spell from thy bewildered soul; 

1 'm ghost enough alone. 



84 To a Young Convert. 



TO A YOUNG CONVERT. 

T ULLED by sweet words and lured by saintly 
charms, 

I see thy weary, wandering steps begin 
To enter where the Church spreads wide her arms, 

Arms that have clasped their many thousands in. 

From turret-windows and from high-arched door 
Looks many a face of saint and martyr dear: 

" Hail, Eve's lost daughter, 1 wanderer now no more ! 
Earth's chill damp air shall never reach thee 
here! 

"Here Dante, Bayard, Catherine knelt in prayer; 
Come in ! their great remembrance makes us 
strong." 
Oh, enter not! for peril haunts the air 
Which even the loveliest lips have breathed too 
long. 

1 "Hevae filia exul." 



To a Young Convert. 85 

Come out upon the mountain tops with me ! 

See the glad day break o'er their spires of blue ! 
There lies within those cloisters' tracery 

A deadlier poison than in dankest dew. 

The Orient sun, that in that templed span 
Lit all of beauty saintliest eyes could see, 

Still falls in blessing on the humblest man 
Who works for freedom with a soul set free. 

In vain ! thou canst not ; yet thy cheeks grow pale 
While thy lips smile, and rapture lights thine 
eyes; 

The tender fascinations slow prevail, 
And half thy life before the altar dies. 

Will it die all? I know not. I can wait. 

The free air presses round the cloister door, 
And I shall listen at that stern-barred gate 

To hear thy sweet voice pray for life once more. 



1850. 



86 Serenade by the Sea. 

SERENADE BY THE SEA. 

[Set to music by M. Albert Pegou.] 

/^V'ER the ocean vague and wide 

Sleep comes with the coming tide. 
Breezes lull my lady fair, 
Cool her eyelids, soothe her hair, 
While the murmuring surges seem 
To float her through a world of dream. 

Shadowy sloops are gliding in 
Safe the harbor-bar within. 
Silently each phantom pale 
Drops the anchor, furls the sail. 
She, meanwhile, remote from me 
Drifts on sleep's unfathomed sea. 

So may every dream of ill 
Find its anchorage, and be still ; 
Sorrow furl its sails and cease 
In this midnight realm of peace; 
And each wandering thought find rest 
In the haven of her breast ! 



The Frozen Cascade. 87 



THE FROZEN CASCADE. 

THE BRIDE OF THE ROCK. 

TN beauty perfected, with lavish grace, 

She casts herself about his rugged form, 
With all her vesture on, of snowy white, 
Nor left one pendant out, one dropping pearl. 
Could she be fairer? Through her inmost veins 
The warm sun searches, as for some weak spot ; 
But with a pride refined she smileth back: 
" I gave myself in beauty to this Rock ; 
Ancient he is, and reverend and strong ; 
And I will fringe him with my snowy arms, 
And lay my white cheek on his dark gray brow, 
Nor ever melt for all thy beaming eyes ! " 

s. L. H. 



88 The Things I Miss. 



THE THINGS I MISS. 

A N easy thing, Power Divine, 

To thank Thee for these gifts of Thine ! 
For summer's sunshine, winter's snow, 
For hearts that kindle, thoughts that glow. 
But when shall I attain to this, — 
To thank Thee for the things I miss? 

For all young Fancy's early gleams, 
The dream ed-of joys that still are dreams, 
Hopes unfulfilled, and pleasures known 
Through others' fortunes, not my own, 
And blessings seen that are not given, 
And never will be, this side heaven. 



Had I too shared the joys I see, 

Would there have been a heaven for me? 






The Things I Miss. 89 

Could I have felt thy presence near, 
Had I possessed what I held dear? 
My deepest fortune, highest bliss, 
Have grown perchance from things I miss. 

Sometimes there comes an hour of calm ; 
Grief turns to blessing, pain to balm ; 
A Power that works above my will 
Still leads me onward, upward still. 
And then my heart attains to this, — 
To thank Thee for the things I miss. 



1870. 



TRANSLATIONS. 



SAPPHO'S ODE TO APHRODITE. 

TloiKiXoOpov ', adavar ' A.<pp6Zna. 

T3 EAUTIFUL-THRONED, immortal Aphrodite! 

Daughter of Zeus, beguiler ! I implore thee 

Weigh me not down with weariness and anguish, 

thou most holy ! 

Come to me now ! if ever thou in kindness 
Hearkenedst my words, — and often hast thou 

hearkened, 
Heeding, and coming from the mansion golden 

Of thy great Father, 

Yoking thy chariot, borne by thy most lovely 
Consecrated birds, with dusky-tinted pinions, 
Waving swift wings from utmost heights of heaven 

Through the mid-ether ; 



94 Sappho s Ode to Aphrodite. 

Swiftly they vanished, leaving thee, Goddess! 
Smiling, with face immortal in its beauty, 
Asking why I grieved, and why in utter longing 

I had dared call thee ; 

Asking what I sought, thus hopeless in desiring, 
' Wildered in brain, and spreading nets of passion — 
Alas, for whom ? and saidst thou, " Who has 
harmed thee ? 

my poor Sappho ! 

"Though now he flies, ere long he shall pursue 

thee; 
Fearing thy gifts, he too in turn shall bring them ; 
Loveless to-day, to-morrow he shall woo thee, 

Though thou shouldst spurn him." 

Thus seek me now, holy Aphrodite! 
Save me from anguish, give me all I ask for, — 
Gifts at thy hand ! And thine shall be the glory, 

Sacred Protector ! 



Sonnet from Petrarch. 95 



SONNET FROM PETRARCH (123). 

"T vidi in terra angelici costumi." 

T once beheld on earth celestial graces 

And heavenly beauties scarce to mortals 
known, 
Whose memory yields nor joy nor grief alone, 
But all things else in clouds and dreams effaces. 
I saw how tears had left their weary traces 
Within those eyes that once the sun outshone ; 
I heard those lips, in low and plaintive moan, 
Breathe words to stir the mountains from their 
places. 
Love, wisdom, courage, tenderness, and truth 
Made, in their mourning, strains more high and 

dear 
Than ever wove sweet sounds for mortal ear ; 
And heaven seemed listening in such saddest ruth 
The very leaves upon the bough to soothe, 
Such sweetness filled the blissful atmosphere. 



96 Sonnet from Petrarch. 



SONNET FROM PETRARCH (128). 

" O passi sparsi ; pensier vaghi e pronti." 

Q WANDERING steps! vague and busy 

dreams ! 

changeless memory ! fierce desire ! 

passion strong ! heart weak with its own fire ; 

eyes of mine ! not eyes, but living streams ; 
O laurel boughs! whose lovely garland seems 

The sole reward that glory's deeds require ; 

O haunted life ! delusion sweet and dire, 

That all my days from slothful rest redeems ; 
O beauteous face ! where Love has treasured well 

His whip and spur, the sluggish heart to move 

At his least will ; nor can it find relief. 
souls of love and passion ! if ye dwell 

Yet on this earth, and ye, great Shades of 
Love! 

Linger, and see my passion and my grief. 



Sonnet from Petrarch. 97 



SONNET FKOM PETRARCH (134). 

" Quando Am6r i begli occhi a terra inchina." 

\X7HEN Love doth those sweet eyes to earth 
incline, 
And weaves those wandering notes into a sigh 
With his own touch, and leads a minstrelsy 
Clear- voiced and pure, angelic and divine, — 

He makes sweet havoc in this heart of mine, 
And to my thoughts brings transformation high, 
So that I say, "My time has come to die, 
If fate so blest a death for me design." 

But to my soul thus steeped in joy the sound 
Brings such a wish to keep that present heaven, 
It holds my spirit back to earth as well. 

And thus I live : and thus is loosed and wound 
The thread of life which unto me was given 
By this sole Siren who with us doth dwell. 



98 Somiet from Petrarch. 



SONNET FROM PETRARCH (223). 

" Qual donna attende a gloriosa fama." 

P\OTH any maiden seek the glorious fame 
Of chastity, of strength, of courtesy? 
Gaze in the eyes of that sweet enemy 
Whom all the world doth as my lady name ! 

How honor grows, and pure devotion's flame, 
How truth is joined with graceful dignity, 
There thou mayst learn, and what the path 

may be 
To that high heaven which doth her spirit claim ; 

There learn that speech beyond all poet's skill, 
And gracious silence, and those holy ways 
Unutterable, untold by human heart. 

But the infinite beauty that all eyes doth fill, 
This none can learn ! because its lovely rays 
Are given by God's pure grace, and not by art. 



Sonnet from Petrarch. 99 



SONNET FROM PETRARCH (251). 

" Gli ocelli dick' io parldi." 

"PHOSE eyes, 'neath which my passionate rapture 
rose, 
The arms, hands, feet, the beauty that erewhile 
Could my own soul from its own self beguile, 
And in a separate world of dreams enclose ; 

The hair's bright tresses, full of golden glows, 
And the soft lightning of the angelic smile 
That changed this earth to some celestial isle, — 
Are now but dust, poor dust, that nothing knows. 

And yet I live ! Myself I grieve and scorn, 
Left dark without the light I loved in vain, 
Adrift in tempest on a bark forlorn; 

Dead is the source of all my amorous strain, 
Dry is the channel of my thoughts outworn, 
And my sad harp can sound but notes of pain. 



100 Sonnet from Petrarch. 



SONNET FROM PETRARCH (253). 

" Sottasi nel mio cor. " 

CHE ruled in beauty o'er this heart of mine, 
A noble lady in a humble home ; 
And now her time for heavenly bliss has come, 
'Tis I am mortal proved, and she divine. 

The soul that all its blessings must resign, 
And love whose light no more on earth finds 

room 
Might rend the rocks with pity for their doom, 
Yet none their sorrows can in words enshrine ; 

They weep within my heart; no ears they find 
Save mine alone, and I am crushed with care, 
And nought remains to me save mournful breath. 

Assuredly but dust and shade we are, 
Assuredly desire is mad and blind, 
Assuredly its hope but ends in death. 



Sonnet from Petrarch. 101 



SONNET FROM PETRARCH (261). 

" Levommi il mio pensiero." 

T~\ REAMS bore my fancy to that region where 
She dwells whom here I seek, but cannot see. 
'Mid those who in the loftiest heaven be 
I looked on her, less haughty and more fair. 

She took my hand ; she said, " Within this sphere, 
If hope deceive not, thou shalt dwell with me : 
I filled thy life with war's wild agony ; 
Mine own day closed ere evening could appear. 

My bliss no human thought can understand; 
I wait for thee alone, and that fair veil 
Of beauty thou dost love shall yet retain." 

Why was she silent then, why dropped my hand 
Ere those delicious tones could quite avail 
To bid my mortal soul in heaven remain? 



102 Sonnet from Petrarch. 



SONNET FROM PETRARCH (302). 

11 Gil dngcll clclll." 

n^IIE holy angels and the spirits blest, 
Celestial bands, upon that day serene 
When first my love went by in heavenly sheen, 
Came thronging, wondering at the graeious guest. 

" What light is here, in what new beauty drest ? " 
They said among themselves " for none has seen 
Within this age arrive so fair a mien 
From changing earth unto immortal rest." 

And she, contented with her new-found bliss, 
Ranks with the perfect in that upper sphere, 
Yet ever and anon looks back on this 

To watch for me, as if for me she stayed. 

So strive my thoughts, lest that high heaven I 

miss; 
I hear her call, and must not be delayed. 



Sonnet from Petrarch. 103 



SONNET FROM PETRARCH (309). 

" Diccmi spesso il mio fidato spcglio" 

(~\PT by my faithful mirror I am told, 

And by my mind outworn and altered brow, 
My earthly powers impaired and weakened 

now, — 
" Deceive thyself no more, for thou art old ! " 

Who strives with Nature's laws is over-bold, 
And Time to his commandment bids us bow. 
Like fire that waves have quenched, I calmly vow 
In life's long dream no more my sense to fold. 

And while I think, our swift existence flies, 
And none can live again earth's brief career, — 
Then in my deepest heart the voice replies 

Of one who now has left this mortal sphere, 
But walked alone through earthly destinies, 
And of all women is to fame most dear. 



104 Sonnet from Petrarch. 



SONNET FROM PETRARCH (314). 

" Dolci durezze e placide repulse." 

/^ENTLE severity, repulses mild, 

Full of chaste love and pity sorrowing; 
Graceful rebukes, that had the power to bring 
Back to itself a heart by dreams beguiled; 

A tender voice, whose accents undefiled 
Held sweet restraints, all duty honoring; 
The bloom of virtue ; purity's sweet spring 
To cleanse away base thoughts and passions 
wild; 

Divinest eyes to make a lover's bliss, 
Whether to bridle in the wayward mind 
Lest its wild wanderings should the pathway 
miss, 

Or else its griefs to soothe, its wounds to bind, — 
This sweet completeness of thy life it is 
Which saved my soul ; no other peace I find. 



Sonnet from Camoens. 105 



SONNET FROM CAMOENS (42). 

[Mrs. Browning in " Catarina to Camoens " represents her as 
bequeathing him the ribbon from her hair ; but she in reality gave 
it to him during her life as a substitute for the ringlet for which 
he pleaded.] 

" Lindo e subtil trancado, que ficaste." 

r\ RIBBON fair, that dost with me remain 
In pawn for that sweet gift I do deserve, 
If but to win thee makes my reason swerve, 
What were it if one ringlet I could gain ? 

Those golden locks thy circling knots restrain, 
Locks whose bright rays might well for sun- 
beams serve, 
When thou unloosest each fair coil and curve, 
Oh is it to beguile, or slay with pain? 

Dear ribbon, in my hand I hold thee now; 
And were it only to assuage my grief, 
Since I can have thee only, cling to thee, 

Yet tell her, thou canst never fill my vow, 
But in the reckoning of love's fond belief 
This gift for that whole debt a pledge shall be. 



106 S 07i7i et from Camoens. 



SONNET FROM CAMOENS (186). 

For we had been reading Camoens, — that poem, you remember, 

Which his lady's eyes were praised in, as the sweetest ever seen. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

" Os olhos onde o casto Amor ardia." 

HpHOSE eyes from whence chaste love was wont 
to glow, 
And smiled to see his torches kindled there ; 
That face within whose beauty strange and rare 
The rosy light of dawn gleamed o'er the snow ; 

That hair, which bid the envious sun to know 
His brightest beams less golden rays did wear; 
That pure white hand, that gracious form and fair: 
All these into the dust of earth must go. 

perfect beauty in its tenderest age! 

flower cut down ere it could all unfold 
By the stern hand of unrelenting death ! 

Why did not Love itself quit earth's poor stage, 
Not because here dwelt beauty's perfect mould, 
But that so soon it passed from mortal breath ? 

FINIS. 



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